Dear Mom; I Hate You, Please Come Back

Mother’s Day is my least favourite holiday of the entire year. I’ve spent the last few weeks dreading it and trying my hardest to erase it from my mind. For the most part, I was successful and I managed to stay busy enough that I didn’t fall into the trap of doom and gloom. Unfortunately, I foolishly opened up my social media feeds this morning and the feelings hit me like a ton of bricks. So now I’m sitting here, squashed under the weight of the broken hopes, aspirations and wishes for things that could have been.

My mother is not a particularly nice person. We haven’t spoken in almost three years and, for the most part, I’m ok with that. She had her wonderful moments where she’d play in the sandbox with us, make enough Christmas cookies that the whole neighbourhood could come over and decorate or set up for Halloween with unrivalled enthusiasm. To gloss over these moments would be doing her a disservice that she does not deserve. Not everything was awful and the moments that were good stood out in such sharp contrast that it just intensified the longing that those moments would never end. I want to hear her singing along to the stereo and not be worried about how much wine she’d consumed or if tonight was another night where she’d start screaming or throwing things.

Thanks to my mother, I am quite self-sufficient. I am a young, professional woman who can not only tile her own floors but make a damn good supper afterwards. She taught me both those things and I am grateful to her. But I still have nightmares where she comes to my house and berates and belittles me for all the things that I have done wrong. My tiles were not cut straight enough, there was too much salt in my stew. And how could I let my house be so dirty? What was I doing with all my free time? My work schedule is not an excuse, she managed to work, homeschool three kids and keep the house clean. I must be lazy.

These nightmares will never come to fruition. My mother doesn’t know my address. She doesn’t know my phone number and she certainly doesn’t know that I left my husband three years ago. She doesn’t even know my last name right now. Despite all this, I still long for her approval. I want her to be proud of me. I want to be good enough to be worthy of her love. I want, so badly, something that I cannot have.

Happy Mother’s Day to those whose mothers are not good, not kind nor supportive. To those who did not reach out this morning for maternal affection, simply because doing so would be more painful than not. We made it through another day. We are strong and worthy of love. We will be okay.